


let me play among the stars

by boasamishipper



Series: and i think it's gonna be a long, long time [10]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Top Gun (1986)
Genre: 2010s, DADT Repeal, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Canon, Wedding Planning, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26088667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boasamishipper/pseuds/boasamishipper
Summary: Dear God,Fury prays.I know we don’t talk much. But if you could let these two get married without it causing an intergalactic incident, I’d really appreciate it.
Relationships: Nick Fury & Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell & Other(s), Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell
Series: and i think it's gonna be a long, long time [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1460746
Comments: 12
Kudos: 38





	let me play among the stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecarlysutra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/gifts).



“Of all the gin joints in all the world, we had to walk into this one.”

Maverick snorts. “Considering I’m buying our first round,” he says, leaning back in his chair, “I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

Fury concedes the point. Even if the bar’s a bit rundown for his liking, they’ve got good beer on tap — and the crowd here means they’ll be harder to spot and overhear from their table in the back. He waits for Maverick to settle in before taking a seat himself, figuring Maverick will bring up whatever he’s been meaning to discuss when he’s ready; as it turns out, he doesn’t have long to wait.

“So,” Maverick says. “Me and Ice are getting married next month. October 21st.”

“Yeah, Kazansky told me.” Fury grins at him. “Not getting cold feet, are you?”

“Not a chance.” Maverick grins back, but his expression quickly flickers out into something more serious. Fury sets his mug down and gives him his full attention. “Anyway, I…it’s not going to be a huge ceremony. Just Ice’s family, and some people from work. From both our jobs, I mean. Nat, Clint, Coulson, Hill. And you, obviously.”

“Obviously? I haven’t even RSVPed yes yet.” Maverick tosses a wadded up napkin at him, and Fury dodges it, laughing. “I’m joking, Maverick. I’ll be there.” He’d cleared his calendar the second that he heard DADT was getting repealed, not minding the strange looks he’d gotten from his secretary. “But that’s not all you wanted to tell me, is it.”

“No,” Maverick admits. “I, uh. I wanted to ask you something, actually.”

Fury frowns. “Shoot.”

Maverick looks him straight in the eye. “Will you be my best man?”

“What?” Fury doesn’t choke on his next inhale, but it’s a near thing. “You serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious.” Maverick palms the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s fine. I just figured I’d—” 

“No! No, man, that’s not what I meant. I was just...surprised.” Years of being a spy have taught him how to keep a good solid grip on his emotions, but he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning like an idiot. “Just figured I’d be getting shafted for somebody else. Like Chewie.”

Maverick smirks. “Chewie’s going to be the ring bearer,” he says. “Ice’s idea. Besides…” He presses his lips together; when he speaks again, his voice is a little shaky. “If it weren’t for you, Fury, I never would’ve found Ice again. I owe you everything.” He gives a slight laugh. “My wedding seemed like as good a time as any to repay you.”

Fury has to avert his gaze just so Maverick won’t notice the tears welling up in his eye. “Well,” he manages once he trusts himself to speak again. “I’m honored, Maverick. Really.”

Maverick smiles. “So you’ll do it?”

“I think I can find some room in my schedule for you,” Fury says by way of yes, and lifts his mug high. Maverick follows suit. “Here’s to the end of another successful mission for SHIELD, the end of DADT...and the end of paying a mortgage for a house you only live in two days a week.”

Maverick laughs. “To my future husband, and my future best man.”

They clink glasses and drink. “Cheers.”

* * *

When Fury was ten, his mother got remarried to a man from their church — quiet, serious, nondescript (so her complete opposite). But John Freeman had been hard-working, and he’d made his mother laugh, so Fury had approved. (Plus John had gone along with ten year old Fury’s desire to be called only by his last name, another point in his favor.) He might not think about his childhood often, but he can think back on his mother’s wedding night — the lanterns glowing in the night, the soft music wafting from the radio, the way his mother had smiled during the  _ I dos,  _ Mr. Snoofers’s pleasure at scaring one of Fury’s cousins by dropping a dead mouse in her lap — with some fondness.

He hasn’t been to a wedding since, but he’s pretty sure best man duties haven’t changed much over the years. Besides, Maverick and Kazansky have already taken care of a lot of them for him. Figure out the outfits? They’ll be wearing their dress whites, and everyone else will be dressed to the nines. Organize the bachelor party? They’re going to spend the evening with some people from TOPGUN and then stay over at Kazansky’s family’s house in Santa Ana, which is where the wedding will be held — and that means Fury also won’t have to worry about getting the grooms to the ceremony on time. Honestly, all he’s got to do is serve as a witness during the marriage-license signing, offer the first toast to the newlyweds, write and give a speech, and collect gifts and cards from the guests at the ceremony. The rest should be just fine.

* * *

The rest, as Fury very quickly learns, is not going to be just fine.

* * *

The buzzing of his communicator wakes him just past two. Muttering a curse, Fury shoves his gun back under his pillow and answers the call without opening his eye. “Fury.”

_ “Hello, Fury,”  _ comes a familiar voice that is decidedly  _ not _ Maverick Mitchell’s, and Fury’s eye snaps open. Son of a bitch.  _ “Are you busy? There’s something I must discuss with you — it’s of the utmost importance.” _

Fury switches from an audio call to a holocall, and Talos appears before him, looking serious. There’s some vague beeping in the background, likely from Talos’s job as head of the planet’s security forces, and it just puts Fury more on edge. “Talos,” he says, hoping that he looks equally imposing even without the eye patch on. “What can I do for you?”

Talos laces his fingers together.  _ “Maverick called us the other day,”  _ he says, solemn.  _ “He and Iceman are getting married.” _

“Yeah, I know. October 21st.”

_ “Ah, I’d hoped you’d heard already. He did say he wanted you to be the best man.” _ From the way Talos says it, it’s clear he doesn’t really know what a best man is, but he pushes on anyway.  _ “Did you accept?” _

“I did.”

_ “Excellent, then I can direct my question toward you. Where will the ceremony be held?” _

Fury blinks. “I don’t have the exact address memorized,” he says, cautious. “But it’ll be at Kazansky’s parents’s house, in Santa Ana, California. Couple hours north from where you stopped by back in ‘95.” He pauses. “You thinking of sending a gift? I don’t think Fed-Ex services outer space.”

_ “Doesn’t the old saying go ‘my presence is your present?’” _

Fury feels himself break into a cold sweat. “Talos,” he says. “Tell me you’re not thinking of coming down to Earth.”

_ “Of course not,”  _ Talos says, indignant, and Fury relaxes for a split second until he says,  _ “I’d never come back to Earth without the others, they’d kill me. Maverick is one of us, and we won’t let such an important occasion go uncelebrated. We’ll all be there. Say, do you think there’ll be a hotel large enough for all of us, or will we have to bring our own lodging?” _

Fury has a terrifying vision of trying to cram hundreds of Skrull into a Ramada Inn off the highway while Earth is attacked by the Accusers. “Talos,” he says. “Don’t you think that’ll bring you some…unwanted attention? Who will protect the planet if you’re gone?”

_ “Don’t worry, I’ve taken that into consideration. We’ll have to arm the planet with nuclear warheads while we’re away, just to prevent a threat, but our home should be just fine. Our ships are equipped with the same levels of protection, and invisibility boosters if necessary. That way if anyone follows us, we’ll blow them out of the sky in a second flat.” _

Fury’s mouth is very dry. “No, no,” he says. “That’s not happening. I’m not having a war get started just because you want to travel across the galaxy for a couple of days. And I won’t have Maverick spend his honeymoon on call in case the worst happens.”

Talos purses his lips.  _ “Fair point,”  _ he says.  _ “What if we kept our numbers small? Instead of the whole planet, we’ll take the fifty of us who were on the Cruiser — the original members of the mission.” _

“Try smaller.”

_ “How much smaller?” _

Fury scrubs a hand down his face. “Small enough that Maverick won’t worry, and that I’ll be able to see you square on at all times.”

_ “Ah,”  _ Talos says.  _ “I see. That small. Well, I’ll discuss things with Soren and get back to you. Oh, by the way, what counts as a good wedding present for humans? Something tells me we won’t be able to stick to Skrull tradition.” _

Fury really, really doesn’t want to know. “Let’s just say the more human and lowkey, the better. And nothing that the Flerkens will want to eat.”

Talos gives him a thumbs up.  _ “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.” _

The hologram flickers out, and Fury buries his face in his hands. Christ. He knew he shouldn’t have thought things were going to be easy — since when was  _ anything  _ easy when it involved Maverick Mitchell? 

_ Dear God, _ Fury prays.  _ I know we don’t talk much. But if you could let these two get married without it causing an intergalactic incident, I’d really appreciate it. _

* * *

“Romanoff, Barton. Hang back.”

Barton faces him with that sardonic respect reserved just for Fury; Romanoff arches her eyebrows, but her expression is otherwise inscrutable. Coulson and Hill, who are still in the room, exchange slightly confused looks. Fury waits for them all to give him their full attention before he speaks.

“What I’m about to tell you does not leave this room,” Fury says. “And if it does,” he punctuates this with a glare in Barton’s direction, who just smirks, “I’ll make sure the culprit’s in charge of the two year recon mission in Novosibirsk.”

Barton’s smirk doesn’t even twitch. Fury cuts his losses.

“Commander Marvel’s getting married in three weeks,” Fury says. They nod; they’d all received their invitations over the last week. Romanoff got hers from Maverick himself when she went to Nevada to watch the Flerkens for a weekend. “And since we’re getting visitors from…out of town, we’re going to need to be on red alert the whole time.”

Romanoff’s eyes narrow. “Does Maverick know about this?”

“No,” Fury says. He doesn’t even know the Skrull are coming — Talos hadn’t gotten back to him since the last time he’d asked, which had resulted in a string of sleepless nights and way too much coffee. “This is something we’ll be keeping to ourselves. Coulson, who’s available from STRIKE?”

“I’ll call The Cavalry, see if she’s back from Madrid. Morse got back from Germany last week.”

“Sharon Carter’s free,” Hill says, without looking up from her phone. “And Mace and Bauer want in. Keller and Carter going?”

“Peggy is, not Keller.” Keller’s retired now and living in Florida with his wife, spending his evenings writing his memoirs and his days on the golf course. He hasn’t exactly been fond of the Skrull since Talos simmed him, so Fury figures it’s for the best. (He sent the happy couple an asparagus cooker and a two hundred dollar check; Fury’s not sure what kind of a message that’s supposed to be.) “Romanoff, Barton, you’ll be on duty during the reception.”

“I don’t know if my crossbow goes with my suit,” Barton says. “Nat, you got a spare I can borrow?”

“What, a crossbow or a suit?”

“Either, I’m not picky.”

“No,” Fury says, wishing he had an aspirin. “We’re keeping this shit under the radar, Barton. Stick to your guns. Literally. That goes for all of you — and whatever agents you’re going to gather, Coulson. No more than five each to both of you. Hill, you’ll be in charge of the seating arrangements…”

The discussion lasts fifteen minutes — his most trusted agents are nothing if not efficient, even if he wants to smack Barton on the back of the head at least twice a day — and by the time Fury shoos them out, he feels a little better about the state of things. He might still have a nervous breakdown because of the impending alien invasion, but at least the seating arrangements are finalized. 

Romanoff sidles up to him, a smirk playing on her mouth. “So,” she says. “How’s the best man speech coming along?”

“Fine,” Fury says stoutly. If the trash can under his desk is filled with crumpled half-started speeches and bad jokes, nobody — least of all Romanoff — needs to know about it.

Her smirk grows. “Alright,” she says mildly, heading for the door. Over her shoulder, she calls, “Let me know if I need to tell the kittens to cover for you, sir.”

Fury takes another aspirin.

* * *

October passes in a haze of sleepless nights, changing foliage, two calls from his mother, and twenty-seven drafts of a best man speech before Fury settles on a final edition. He’s got his flight booked for the morning of the twentieth; Romanoff and Barton and Coulson and Hill (and their reinforcements) are flying in that evening. Talos hadn’t contacted him at all since their conversation at the start of the month, which Fury figures is for the best. They can congratulate Maverick all they want on the honeymoon, when he’s no longer Fury’s direct responsibility.

The semi-bliss comes to a screeching halt, however, when Fury opens the door to his apartment the night of the nineteenth and sees Barack Obama, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Amy Winehouse standing in the hallway with suitcases in hand.

“Hello, Fury!” says the leader of the free world. “We made it!”

“…Oh, you have  _ got  _ to be shitting me.”

Amy Winehouse looks exasperated. “Talos, I told you we should have called first.”

“My love, in my defense, I was a little preoccupied with Gynara threatening to kill me if she didn’t get to go.”

“I talked her out of it, Dad,” Arnold says, flexing his muscles. “Just gotta pick up some shifts in the infirmary when we get home and pick her up some new crossword puzzles, and we’ll be good as gold.” He grins at Fury. “What’s the 411, Director? Are the kids still saying that these days?”

Fury holds onto the door frame with one hand and pinches the bridge of his nose with the other. It takes several seconds before he can muster up the energy to speak — and choose to ask one of the hundred questions bouncing around in his head. “Talos,” he says. “Soren. Niamh. Where the hell did you get those disguises?”

“We got the idea for them from an old magazine we found when we landed on the coast,” Arnold pipes up. “We did get some strange looks on the way to the apartment, but I think that’s just ‘cause it’s so late.”

“Your door guard seemed a little freaked out,” Barack Obama says. “Do you not get visitors often?”

Fury closes his eye and prays for divine intervention. “I’m going to count to three,” he says, “and you had better be inside and looking normal by the time I open my eye.”

As requested, three Skrull are standing in his apartment by the time he opens his eye and slams the door shut. Talos looks the same as ever, though Soren’s got a few new scars and calluses on her hands. Niamh’s no longer the shy little girl Fury remembers; now she’s slender and almost as tall as her parents, wearing a jumpsuit and a cocky Maverick-like smile.

“So,” Fury says. “You weren’t followed here, were you?”

Talos scoffs. “With my daughter at the pilot’s controls?” he says proudly. Niamh preens. “Not a damn chance.”

“Great,” Fury says. “Great.” He scrubs his hands down his face; the aliens in his living room wait patiently for him to say what he needs to say. “Two things. We leave for California in the morning. We’re going to be flying there — and you’re going to be sitting next to me in first class the whole goddamn time. No sneaking off to join the Mile High Club, no trying to wrestle the controls away from the pilot, and absolutely no flying there on your own.”

“Fine,” Niamh says. She crosses her arms over her chest, clearly missing the extra muscles and the height. “What’s the second thing?”

Fury grabs his phone, swipes the screen a few times until he finds stock photos on Google Images. “Swipe through these,” he says. “We’re going to find you some less… famous humans to sim so the happy couple doesn’t shit bricks when they see you tomorrow afternoon.”

* * *

Fury’s glad he sprung for first class seats, because if he has to fly across the country with three aliens who keep loudly scoffing at humanity’s form of ‘primitive air travel’ and excitedly asking the flight attendants what the best human food is, at least he’s going to be comfortable. (The champagne is a fucking godsend.) The drive from San Diego to Santa Ana is thankfully much quieter; Talos drives them to their hotel, since the stock photo he’d simmed knew how to drive a car, and Niamh and Soren sleep in the back while Fury texts Maverick.

**Fury:** _ Your future in-laws home? _

The reply only takes a minute.

**Maverick:** _ Well, the wedding is at their house, so yeah  
_ _ We’re in the back helping set up the canopy and the chairs  
_ _ Why _

**Fury:** _ They’re about to get some visitors. Be there in fifteen. _

**Maverick:** _ Be warned, if you’re not bringing Nat, the Flerkens are going to be pissed _

**Fury:** _ She and Barton will be there tonight with lots of catnip. See you in fourteen and a half. _

Bill and Jess Kazansky’s house is located deep in the Santa Ana suburbs, and (thankfully) fenced off from their neighbors. Talos pulls into the driveway, parking behind a blue SUV and a Mazda with Nevada license plates. “Is Maverick in the house?”

“He’s in the backyard,” Fury says. “And so are Kazansky and his parents and sister.”

“Ah,” Soren says. “Do they know about…about him?”

“They know.” Fury remembers that conversation in Kazansky’s hospital room like it was yesterday; in fact, the memory of Jess Kazansky browbeating the doctor who tried to kick him and Maverick out of the room still keeps him warm at night. If she weren’t retired, he’d have recruited her. Either way, they know about Maverick’s stretch of time in space and his superpowers, but they’ve never met a Skrull before — and in Fury’s experience, meeting real life aliens takes some time to get used to. “Just hold off on showing them your real selves right away, alright?”

“Fine,” Niamh says. She’s bouncing so much in her seat she looks ready to achieve liftoff. “We ready to go or what?”

The  _ yeah  _ has barely left Fury’s lips when Soren, Talos, and Niamh practically fly out of the car, sprinting toward the open gate and the distant conversation like Olympic athletes. Cursing, he jogs after them, and arrives in the backyard just in time for Talos to spread his arms and say, “Surprise!”

“We got you a blender!” Niamh says, holding one out and beaming.

“Where the fuck were you keeping that?” Fury asks, but nobody’s listening.

“Did you,” Maverick says. He’s smiling just a little, more polite than friendly, and he takes a casual step in front of Kazansky, his hands glowing faintly at his sides. Jess and Bill and Taylor Kazansky are, thankfully, nowhere in sight.

_ “Krath-la,  _ Maverick,” Soren says, more fond than exasperated. “Put those away and give us a hug, will you?”

All the color drains from Maverick’s face at once. His knees buckle; he staggers backward, right into Kazansky, who clutches his elbow and helps him upright. His jaw works furiously, and it takes several seconds for speech to come out. “Soren?” he whispers. His eyes cut between the others beside her, and then to Fury, who nods once. “Talos? Niamh?”

“Surprise!” Talos says again, waving his hands for effect.

Maverick’s smile grows until it threatens to split his face in two. “Holy shit,” he says. “Fuck, holy shit, you  _ guys!” _ And then he and Soren and Talos and Niamh are running towards each other, grinning, laughing, hugging each other so hard Fury’s worried they might crack a rib or two. “What the hell are you  _ doing  _ here?”

“You’re getting married!” Niamh says, ducking away from Maverick with a squeal after he tousles her hair. “We weren’t going to miss that for the world, not after we spent ten years on the Cruiser watching you get hearts in your eyes every time you thought about Iceman.”

Maverick goes a brighter red than his Commander Marvel jumpsuit. Kazansky grins. “Oh, is that so?”

“Very much so,” Soren says, her eyes twinkling. “It’s good to see you again, Iceman. You’re looking well.”

“Thank you. And you’re looking — well, a lot less like yourself.” 

“How about now?” Soren says, and before Fury can say a single word, the three of them shed their human disguises — just as Kazansky’s parents and sister walk back outside. Bill Kazansky swears, Jess Kazansky shrieks, and Taylor Kazansky drops the two beer bottles she’d been holding, which shatter into pieces on the ground.

“Ah,” Talos says, barely audible over the rising commotion. He exchanges a sheepish look with his wife and daughter. “That might not have been the best idea.”

Fury sighs, pops another aspirin and resigns himself to a long night.

* * *

(Before Fury and the Skrull head back to their hotel for the night, Maverick pulls Fury into a tight hug, takes a shaky breath, and whispers a tearful,  _ “Thank you.” _

It doesn’t make up for the month-long stress headaches, but it comes damn close.)

* * *

Fury spends the morning of October 21st, 2011, leaning against the side of the Kazanskys’ house and watching people pour into the backyard. It’s beautiful out, all blue sky and sunshine, and Fury looks out at the rows of chairs, the people smiling, the Flerkens with ribbons around their necks, the canopy billowing in the faint breeze, and feels an unexpected lump rise in his throat.  _ If I can’t believe this is finally happening, I bet Kazansky and Maverick are over the goddamned moon. _

“Wine?” says Romanoff, appearing out of nowhere with two glasses in hand. Fury’s gotten used to that by now, so he doesn’t even flinch. “Nice suit.”

“Nice dress,” Fury says back, and accepts the glass of wine. The dress is a burgundy red, the same color as her lipstick, with an asymmetric neckline and a slit in the fabric just at the thigh. He knows she’s carrying, but he can’t even tell where she’s keeping her knives, let alone her gun. “You seen the grooms?”

“Maverick’s in the house,” Romanoff says. “Tradition says he and Ice can’t see each other ‘til they’re up at the altar, and he’s been pouting about it since last night.”

Fury spots Kazansky talking to his parents on the other side of the yard, away from the guests, and hides his smile by taking a sip of his wine. “Kazansky doesn’t look too pleased about it either.”

Romanoff shrugs. “Oh well,” she says. “Ten minutes until the ceremony starts, by the way. I’ve got to go get Chewie and the kittens lined up.”

Romanoff walks off to do just that, and Fury catches Coulson’s eye from where he’s talking to Hill by the gate. Coulson gives a nod, conveying he’ll take over Fury’s job of surveying the perimeter, and Fury heads in the house.

Maverick’s in the guest bedroom, standing in front of the mirror and adjusting the collar of his dress uniform with a look of intense concentration. When he notices Fury standing there, he grins. “How do I look?”

“Almost respectable,” Fury says, clapping Maverick on the back. “How’re you feeling?”

“Never been better.” Maverick grins and adjusts his collar one more time, and then he turns and looks Fury up and down, squinting. “Are you  _ carrying?  _ Seriously, Fury?”

“Half the guests have guns on them, Maverick,” Fury says, exasperated (and a little impressed that Maverick had even noticed). “I think Niamh’s got photon blasters built into her cufflinks. Anyway, considering half the shit that’s happened to the two of you over the last twenty years, you can’t exactly blame us for being cautious.”

“Fair enough,” Maverick admits. Then he smirks. “Like anybody’s going to be stupid enough to attack us with five Flerkens around.”

“So you took your own precautionary measures, is what I’m hearing.”

“It was Ice’s idea,” Maverick says, and Fury laughs. “Besides, Chewie and the kittens would never forgive us if they weren’t invited.”

“You can’t have that,” Fury agrees. From outside, he can hear the officiant calling the processional order to line up, and he smooths down his suit jacket — just to make sure his gun is holstered properly. “That’s my cue. See you up there.”

“Okay.” Maverick gives a tiny, joyful laugh, like he can’t believe this is really happening. “See you there.”

* * *

In the end, the ceremony goes off without a hitch. The officiant leads the grooms through their vows, Chewie doesn’t eat their rings (or any of the guests), and even Fury gets a little misty-eyed when the officiant says  _ I now pronounce you husbands for life  _ and Maverick kisses Kazansky deep before she even finishes talking. While Maverick and Kazansky sign the marriage license (under Fury’s watchful eye), the caterers come in and set up the tables and the chairs in the yard, which almost break under the weight of all the food and alcohol that was ordered. And after the first dance, and the dinner service, and a round of cocktails, it’s the moment Fury had been secretly dreading most of all.

“Ladies and gentleman, I’d like to formally welcome you to the long overdue wedding of Maverick Mitchell and Iceman Kazansky. Thank you so much for coming out and celebrating with us tonight. This is my first time giving a speech like this, so I won’t drag it out,”  _ and I won’t give Barton any potential blackmail material over me.  _ “I met Maverick Mitchell in 1995, a little over sixteen years ago now. Of course, both of us look incredibly good for our age,” that gets a laugh, “but I won’t go into that. I also won’t go into the stories about all the stress headaches and near heart attacks Maverick’s given me over the years — the good, the bad, and the ugly — only because I’m pretty sure those stories are still classified.”

“They are,” Barton calls, which earns him a laugh from the guests (and a slight glare from Fury).

“Anyway,” Fury says. “I  _ will  _ share one story with you all tonight. I promise it’s a good one.

“In 1986, Maverick and Iceman met at TOPGUN; the US Navy Fighter Weapons School, in Miramar, California. I’m told there were more sparks flying between these two than there were jets flying in the sky. It wasn’t until 1989 that these two finally got together — and it wasn’t even six months later when…unforeseen circumstances forced them apart.

“I was there when they met again, in 1995. I didn’t know their story then, not yet, but I knew just from watching them how much they cared for each other. How much they loved each other, even though they tried to hide it. And I want to say that it’s been an honor and a privilege to be in both of their lives, watching their love for each other grow even stronger over the years. I wish you two had been able to get married sooner, to let everyone know how much the other means to you, but I’m happy you two get this moment now.”

Talos wolf-whistles, and Niamh and Romanoff lead the guests in a round of applause. Kazansky’s blushing, and Maverick’s smiling so hard it looks a little painful. There are tears in both of their eyes; Fury wonders if they’re holding hands under the table. He’s pretty sure they haven’t stopped touching in some way since the  _ I dos. _

“I’m not married, so I can’t impart a whole lot of wisdom to you. But I’ll leave you with this: Love doesn’t make the world go round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile. And considering the breadth and depth of the love you two have for each other, you’re in for a very worthwhile ride.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in raising your glasses for a toast to the grooms.” There’s a clatter of everyone grabbing their drinks, and Fury raises his champagne flute high. “To Maverick Mitchell and Iceman Kazansky—”

Suddenly, the gate to the backyard opens, revealing two familiar people: a man with spiked up dark hair, expensive sunglasses, and a goatee, and a woman with auburn hair swept up in an elegant updo.

_ Son of a fucking bitch. _

“—I wish you all the happiness in the world,” Fury finishes, though the gritted teeth he’s speaking through kind of belies his words. “Cheers!”

“Cheers!” the guests echo, but Fury is too busy storming off to listen, Coulson and Romanoff hot on his heels. Honestly, he’s more pissed off at himself than at the interruption; he’d planned contingencies for everything from alien invasions to zombie apocalypses, and there had been his fatal mistake. Apparently it was impossible to plan a contingency for the unpredictable whirlwind that was Tony fucking Stark.

“Looking spiffy, Director Eyepatch,” Stark greets with a smirk, taking off his sunglasses. Pepper Potts, who’s standing beside him, looks torn between smiling politely and facepalming. “Nice speech, by the way. You ever considered a career in public relations?”

“Stark,” Fury bites out. “Don’t recall you receiving an invitation to this shindig.”

“Seriously, Tony?” Pepper says. “You said you had an invitation!”

“In my defense, I had like… twelve percent of an invitation,” Stark says, unabashed. Fury wants to kill him. “It wasn’t that hard to find the other eighty-eight percent. Hey, Agent Coulson, Agent Romanoff, looking good. Coulson, did you bring that cellist you’ve been seeing lately?”

Coulson looks like he’s refraining from rolling his eyes with great difficulty. Romanoff shows no such restraint.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Maverick comes over to join their group, Kazansky at his side. Fury watches Maverick’s expression go from confusion to cautious surprise in less than a second. “Tony,” he says. “What’re you doing here?”

Stark spreads his hands as if to say  _ surprise. _ “Good to see you too, Maverick,” he says. “You going to introduce me?”

Maverick glances between Stark and Kazansky, who looks simultaneously amused and politely bemused. “Ice, this is Tony Stark. Tony, this is my husband, Iceman Kazansky.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Kazansky says, smiling a little, and shakes Stark’s hand. “Mav’s told me a lot about you.”

Stark looks delighted, either by the fact he’s been talked about or that Kazansky had called Maverick  _ Mav.  _ “Wish I could say the same,” he says, “but don’t worry, I don’t hold a grudge.” He reaches into his suit jacket (everyone flinches) and pulls out an envelope, which he hands to Maverick. “Congratulations, mazel tov, et cetera. Don’t spend it all at once.”

Maverick opens the envelope, takes out a piece of paper, and his eyes almost pop out of his head. Kazansky looks over at it and goes red, then white, like he’s going to be sick. “I think you wrote it wrong,” Kazansky manages. “There’s too many zeroes.”

“Nope. Right amount. One grand for every year you’ve been together, so—”

“Sixteen thousand dollars,” Maverick says weakly. Fury yanks the check out of his hand so he can see for himself.  _ Jesus Christ.  _ “Fuck, Tony. Jesus.”

“You’re welcome,” Stark says, with a shrug like it’s no big deal. “I’ll accept thanks in the form of whatever alcohol you’re serving here. Pep, you want some wine? Martini?”

Pepper just shakes her head, smiling a little. “Wine’s fine.”

“I’ll, uh,” Kazansky says, swallowing hard. “I’ll show you where the bar’s set up. C’mon.”

Kazansky heads off with Maverick, Stark, and Pepper at his side, leaving Fury and Coulson and Romanoff standing in a circle, watching the guests realize that Iron Man and the CEO of Stark Industries have arrived at the wedding. For a moment, Fury wonders what’ll happen when Talos, Soren, and Niamh meet Stark. The prospect of them becoming friends is almost too terrifying to think about.

“Did that just happen?” Romanoff says.

Fury finishes his champagne in one gulp. “Guess so.”

* * *

_ epilogue: _

The evening winds down after that. Following the food, and the dancing, and more toasts from the guests (Fury had to verbally threaten Talos to keep him from shedding his human disguise), everyone seems more than content to watch the sun set and the stars rise. Romanoff, Niamh, Hill, and Pepper are deep in conversation about something or other (now  _ that’s _ a terrifying potential friendship) while the kittens lay at their feet, Stark is talking to an interested Barton about potential modifications to his crossbow, Coulson’s stepped inside to take a call (from the mysterious cellist, Fury presumes), Talos and Soren are holding hands, and Maverick and Kazansky are on the makeshift dance floor, swaying to  _ Dream a Little Dream of Me _ with their arms around each other and the softest smiles on their faces. Somehow, against all odds, everything had gone off without a hitch — which means Fury can finally sit back and relax.

“Sir.”

Fury turns his head to see Coulson approaching, and raises his glass of wine in greeting. “Take a load off, rookie,” he says. At Coulson’s hesitance, he adds, “Think of it as a direct order.”

Coulson still hesitates. “Sir,” he says. “We’ve got a situation.”

Some of the contentment brought on by the situation and the wine fades. “What?”

“HQ called,” Coulson says. “Captain America just woke up from the ice.”

“…Oh, mother  _ fucker.” _

**Author's Note:**

> I won't say this is the end, as I do have some more ideas percolating in this 'verse (and I have zero self-control), but consider this the end of the series for now. ;)
> 
> Thank you all for coming along on this journey with me; I appreciate the support more than words can say. <333
> 
> Until next time, this has been boasamishipper, signing out.


End file.
